Caught
by Child of the Wilderness
Summary: How would Wicked change if Fiyero's hunt for Elphaba was successful? A scene detailing what might have happened if Fiyero and Elphaba met up during the "intermission" section of the Musical.


_Elphaba—_Fiyero grinned as he stared at the Witch twisting through the sky—_has never been more beautiful._

Fiyero, Captain of the Guard, watched his beloved revolutionary Elphaba. He nearly forgot he was with seven Gale Forcers, all of whom hated and feared the green Witch of Fiyero's dreams.

It took one gunshot and one feral, unearthly scream to remind him. It took the heartrending sight of Elphaba's broom—shattered—plummeting from the sky, bringing Elphaba with it.

Fiyero was in motion long before Elphaba plunged into the trees and out of sight.

"She's not hurt," Fiyero announced with a certainty he did not feel, "Ryl just got her broom—Ryl, take two with you and head to the nearest town; warn the guard there, and send for reinforcements for any towns nearby. Then double back and search every cranny where a Witch could hide. Naer and someone else head for the Bridge—she can't swim, so guarding the bridge effectively cuts off all escape routes to the North. The rest of you, head South and herd her further into the Forest. I'm going to look for pieces of her broom. The Wizard might learn something from them. If you haven't caught her by dusk tomorrow, make for the Emerald City—and if you catch her, bring her _alive_ at all costs."

The Gale Force was nothing if not efficient; they were trained not to question their Captain, and to act as soon as he finished giving orders.

"Sweet Lurline," Fiyero whispered when his men were out of sight, "let her be all right." He raked his fingers through his hair and strode toward the place he had last seen Elphaba.

* * *

Elphaba had never been so afraid. Her leg throbbed where the bullet—damn Gale Force—had grazed her calf; she was bleeding, both from the bullet wound and numerous scratches where tree branches sliced her skin in her headlong descent. Worse, Elphaba had twisted her ankle during her rough landing.

In too much pain to attempt a spell, Elphaba scrambled up a tree—cursing under her breath all the while—and wrapped her cloak protectively around her thin shoulders. Her perch was uncomfortable, but Elphaba was counting on these Gale Forcers to assume she would run far, far away from the site of her crash landing. She bit back a bitter laugh: they would have assumed correctly, if only she were unhurt.

Steady crunching drew Elphaba from her thoughts. A single set of determined footsteps, drawing ever nearer. Elphaba squinted through the dusky light of evening in the Great Gillikin Forest, and her heart thumped wildly when she saw her pursuer: Fiyero. Of course, Fiyero would be her undoing. He knew her, perhaps well enough to guess where she would hide, certainly well enough to know water wouldn't melt her. Of course he wouldn't expect her to run for the nearest bridge or town. Elphaba silently cursed the man who was—undoubtedly—her worst weakness.

* * *

Fiyero scanned the crash site. Elphaba's broom lay splintered in two pieces, its uneven halves looking forlorn and lifeless without the lithe green figure Fiyero had seen riding it. The leaves were flustered, speckled with tiny droplets of dark blood. Fiyero sucked in his breath and held it.

"Oh, Lurline," he hissed, "not her. Not like this. Please."

Fiyero circled the crash site, but the blood—inexplicably—was contained to a small section of ground, just around the broom. There was no sign that Elphaba had rested or tended her wounds, no sign of the Witch except the shattered broom and the blood.

* * *

Elphaba watched Fiyero piece the clues together and bit back a sigh. He hadn't been so observant when they were at Shiz. She had counted on his inobservance, chosen to save her strength for healing rather than casting a hiding spell. It had been a mistake.

"Elphaba?" she heard him ask.

Soon, he would find her. She tried not to twitch.

* * *

"Elphaba?" Fiyero asked the trees. He listened: nothing, not even the soft sound of breathing. "Elphaba? Where are you?"

Fiyero looked up, to the inexplicably dark shadows in the tree above him. A wave of certainty washed over him, comforting in its warmth and the joy it brought. Elphaba was there—just above him, just out of reach. He would see her, hold her, and explain how she had haunted him . . . he would be complete.

"Elphie, love, it's me. Fiyero. I won't hurt you."

Slowly, he laid his gun and knife at the foot of the tree. Then, with the same exaggerated motions, he built a little fire and brought food and bandages from his satchel.

"Elphaba, come down. I swear I won't harm you."

* * *

Elphaba watched the little drama unfolding beneath her. She let Fiyero stare into his campfire for a quarter of an hour before the cold and pain overcame her; she thought for another five minutes, carefully weighing her options and sketching a plan in her head. Then she waited.

* * *

"Elphaba?" Fiyero was no longer certain of himself. He sighed. He had so wanted the green girl to materialize before him—to stroke her hair and kiss her the way he had always wanted to . . .

A witchy cackle cut Fiyero's thoughts short. His heart thudded and he felt a grin spread across his features. Elphaba!

"What do you want, my pretty?" Elphaba asked. Fiyero knew it was her, and heard the strain of her assumed—witchy—voice.

"You," Fiyero answered simply, truthfully.

* * *

Elphaba took a deep breath and thought for a moment. Yes, Fiyero wanted her. He had become Captain of the Guard because he had searched so relentlessly. Elphaba's fingernails dug into the tree bark and she focused on her aching leg—banishing memories of the handsome, carefree Fiyero of her Shiz days; she had loved him then.

"Lurline," she hissed, too quietly for Fiyero to hear, "I love him, and he'll be the death of me yet."

Elphaba breathed slowly, evenly, and counted one hundred breaths before she had decided how to handle the man huddled beneath her tree. She let herself relax, dropping the witchy act.

"Why do you want me?" Elphaba asked.

* * *

Fiyero breathed in the scents of wood smoke and running water.

"_Why do you want me?" Elphaba asked, her voice clear and sweet—as he remembered it._

"I want to help you," Fiyero replied. He could hear his own sincerity and hoped Elphaba had not grown too jaded to notice.

"At Shiz," Elphaba began, "you were a party boy . . . but you helped me rescue that Lion cub. You really cared that he made it to safety. Now, you say you want to help me—the fugitive Witch all of Oz wishes dead. Why?"

Fiyero sighed. "Come down, please. I'll explain . . . but it would be nice to see you, first."

Elphaba laughed, and the sound rang bitter like cold Gale Force coffee. "I'm not so trusting as that," she answered, her voice almost witchy again, "You'll tell me now, and then I'll decide if it's safe."

* * *

Elphaba waited, listening to the sounds of Fiyero's breathing and the crunching of dead leaves as he shredded them. Several long moments passed before he spoke:

"As a boy," Fiyero began, "I wanted to know everything there was to know about being King of the Vinkus—a position rightfully mine, though I hardly expect to assume it now. I was fascinated by the concepts of justice and oppression, and I really wanted to make things better for my people . . ."

Fiyero paused, staring into his campfire.

"What happened?" Elphaba asked after a long while.

Fiyero laughed, a short, humourless sound. "Traditions happened." He said. "My parents signed a contract for my marriage. They told me she was pretty, that her name was Sarima, and that I would be very happy. Mostly, I believed them. Maybe they were right, but we never found out. Sarima was from a noble family, but her parents had let her run wild when she was young and she had never quite learned the decorum expected of her. _My_ parents had no idea. Two years before Shiz and about six months before we were scheduled to marry, Sarima turned up pregnant. _I'd_ never seen her, didn't even know what she was supposed to look like or her last name; if I'd told everyone the baby was mine, she'd be alive today. But I was honest," Fiyero stopped and gulped something from his canteen, "I was honest, and by my honesty I signed her death warrant. They wouldn't even wait until she had the baby. Said she had to be punished, made an example of—I tried to stop them, but I did no good. And that's when I realized everything I was doing was worthless."

Elphaba wanted to wrap her arms around Fiyero's shoulders and comfort him, but she didn't want to startle him. His pensive look did not invite her forward.

"My father made me watch," Fiyero half-whispered, "and I'll never forget the way she pled for the life of her baby, for a few more months. I'll never forget feeling so helpless I wanted to shoot myself. All the partying, the girls and liquor, the 'dancing through life' spiel—I was trying to forget."

"And now?" Elphaba asked.

"And now I'm here—Captain of the most brutal, elite Guard in the history of Oz, spilling my guts to a fugitive girl I knew at University; a Witch who has been running from me for the last year and a half—a woman I love. Will she come down and let me help her, now?"

Elphaba nodded, forgetting for a moment that Fiyero couldn't see her.

"I'll try," she said, stretching her wounded leg, "I'm not sure I can _get_ down."

"Hold on a second," Fiyero said. He swung himself into the lower branches of the tree and steadied himself against its trunk. "Can you slide down onto my shoulders?"

"Can you carry me?" Elphaba retorted. "Oh, Sweet Lurline," she hissed as she slid down the rough tree trunk.

* * *

Fiyero bandaged Elphaba's wounds with all the tender care of a lover, his heart thudding in his chest—he was _touching_ the untouchable Elphaba, his beloved, the girl he'd prayed to find every day since she left. When he finished treating her, he ran his fingers through her tangled hair.

Fiyero looked into Elphaba's clear eyes. "I love you," he told her matter-of-factly.

Elphaba grinned at him; for a moment, the cares of her fugitive life melted away from her thin face, and she was the girl he remembered from Shiz.

"In my wildest dreamings, I never imagined this," she confided, "never really thought you could want me."

"I do," he whispered, "Oh, Elphaba, I do."

The green Witch smirked, "Really, Fiyero, there's no need to make this sound like a wedding."

Fiyero caressed her face. "I wouldn't mind a wedding."

"Mmm, maybe later—but just for this moment, I've lost all resistance . . ." Elphaba's eyes dared him, and Fiyero had never been one to ignore a dare.

He kissed her fiercely, the way he'd wanted to kiss her since the night he first saw her.


End file.
